The Heart's Unrest

I’ve been hurting for days.

Not just physically, but internally. My body’s been in pain—back, neck, head. The diabetes situation is still something I’m battling through. My numbers are coming down, my vision is starting to improve. Fatigue is still there. There’s brain fog at times. I’m lightheaded. I’m trying to stabilize.

But it’s not just that.

There’s something else that’s been sitting on me since a few days ago. A situation with someone I love. Something that’s been happening for a long time. Something I’ve spoken on before that never really got addressed. I’ve been tolerating, pushing through, letting it go. But it didn’t go anywhere.

It stayed.

And recently, it came out.

We were just walking, enjoying the neighborhood, getting some cardio in, and it came up again. This time, I didn’t hold it in. I didn’t yell. But I was direct. Firm. I said what I needed to say.

It disrupted a good moment. I know that.

And I’ve been sitting with that since.

I woke up today in pain.

Didn’t sleep much. My body hurt. My heart hurt.

I still had everything from that situation sitting on me.

But I got up anyway and went to church. It was a good message. I’m glad I went.

Gracepoint Church Service 3/29/26

The mission of the church is to make disciples. That’s it. If what you’re doing isn’t for the kingdom, it’s a distraction. If it’s not taking people from death to life, it’s not eternal.

When you find a brother or sister that’s down for you to help you on your walk with God, hold onto that.

After that, I went to see my chiropractor.

I needed relief. Money’s tight, but I couldn’t keep going like that. I got the cranial adjustment. It helped. I went and got a massage too. That helped even more.

For a moment, my body loosened up.

But everything else was still there.

On my way back, I saw a text from Melissa—John Morgan’s sister.

She was following up on a message I had left months ago. I had been trying to find next of kin to acquire exact dates and to relay that I mention John in my books. Couldn’t find anything, so I contacted the funeral home. They reached out to his sister for me.

She said she lost my information for a while, but she finally found it. Told me to give her a call. Said she missed him.

I told her I would.

I went home for a bit, then headed to the park.

Set up my hammock. Got still.

Then I called her.

We talked about John.

I don’t believe I had ever met her. And if I did, I don’t remember her well.

But she vaguely remembered me.

“They used to call you Shorty, right?”

I told her yes.

She remembered a lot of John’s friends coming over. She remembered a few of the people we talked about.

We talked about memories, mutual friends, music. The way it sounded. The way it felt.

We talked about who he was.

The kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without thinking.

I read her excerpts from my books where I mentioned him.

The dedication from Operating Without a Manual, Phase 4 — 1 of 2.

And passages where he’s mentioned in The Book of Carlos and I’m a Traumatized Human.

I read each part to her.

Browse All Books by Carlos Aleman Jr

We talked about his funeral. We talked about how he passed.

We talked about John.

She told me their dad is still at the old place on Rowe. Mourning his wife, their mom, Doris. Lonely. Still playing his guitar and harmonica.

I told her my dad plays ukulele. Maybe they can jam one day.

She loved that idea.

While I was on the phone with her, my dad showed up at the park.

I mentioned the idea to him too—about them possibly playing together—and he was up for that.

Then we went home together.

When we got home, it hit.

He broke down.

“Why did your mom have to go?”

I feel the same way.

I held him.

I had already cried earlier at the park.

But I was there for him.

And he was there for me.

I realized I hadn’t eaten.

We found some chicken soup in the freezer.

It was from when I had made it for the loved one I mentioned earlier while she was sick not long ago.

I took care of her.

I usually do.

Sometimes I feel like the things I do go unnoticed.

Maybe they’re felt later.

Maybe they’re not.

We heated it up. That’s probably all I’ll have today.

I don’t have the energy.

I don’t even know if I have the appetite.

The nausea is still there.

And through all of this… that situation is still there. The nausea due to the situation.

So let me say this clearly.

I can own my delivery.

I didn’t like the way it came out. I know I was harsh. And I know I might’ve hurt someone I love in the process.

That part sits with me.

But I wasn’t coming from nowhere.

I was coming from something that hadn’t been resolved. Something that kept happening. Something I had already spoken on before that never really got heard or addressed.

So yeah—I can take responsibility for how I said it.

But that doesn’t erase why I said it.

It doesn’t cancel the fact that I was dealing with something real.

I was being put in situations that didn’t feel right.

And I needed to feel supported in that.

Respect matters to me.

And being put in situations where I feel disrespected isn’t something I’m okay with.

That was one of the main things.

This isn’t about pointing fingers. It’s about what I was experiencing and what I needed.

And now that it’s out… it feels like something that was building up finally got released.

Like pressure.

Like something that would’ve come out one way or another if it stayed in.

Maybe now I can actually talk about it without it wanting to burst out of me.

And maybe there’s something I take from that.

To slow down.

To regulate myself before I get to that point again.

Because I’ll admit—I was frustrated.

And I’m not the type of person to come at people like that.

I’m not malicious.

I don’t try to hurt people.

So for it to come out the way it did… it had been building for a while.

Not because I was holding it in—but because it kept happening, and nothing was being resolved.

And it doesn’t mean I love her any less. If anything, that’s part of why it mattered enough to come out the way it did.

I do believe reconciliation is possible. I’m not closed off to that. I’d want that.

We don’t usually have issues like this.

We don’t really fight.

For years, it’s been smooth. Easy. We joke, we laugh, we get along.

There’s never really been anything serious enough to argue about.

So this… this is different.

This is the first real situation of this kind, of this level, in years where we’ve actually bumped heads like this.

And because of that, I don’t believe this is something that just ends everything.

I believe it can be worked out.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

And it doesn’t mean I don’t feel horrible right now.

But it can’t just be a reset like nothing happened.

It has to involve being heard. Being received. Not just listened to, but actually understood.

Because I had that part—the feeling, the truth behind what I was saying.

What I didn’t have… was resolution.

And without that, you’re not fixing anything.

You’re just waiting for it to happen again.

What hurts is not being seen.

Not being heard.

Not being understood.

Or being understood… and still being dismissed.

Today had its highs and its lows.

Its good parts and its bad parts.

But right now… I still feel horrible.

I feel hurt.

I regret how I delivered it.

But I don’t regret bringing it up.

It needed to be said.

This is where I’m at.

Not perfect.

Not fully okay.

Still healing.

Still hurting.

Still here.

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